


Go

by sister_wolf



Series: Devil's Road [8]
Category: Hard Core Logo (1996), Lone Hero (2002), due South
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-07-27
Updated: 2004-07-27
Packaged: 2017-10-12 09:42:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/123529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sister_wolf/pseuds/sister_wolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein things get really, really complicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Go

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place after _Hard Core Logo_ and includes spoilers for the end of the movie. Knowledge of _Lone Hero_ is definitely not necessary to read this; those of you who do remember the movie will notice that I've changed canon in a few significant places. Huge thanks to my awesome betas, Brooklinegirl, Heuradys, and Justacat.
> 
> IMPORTANT WARNING: This series is unfinished and will never be finished. It also ends at a particularly bad point in the plot. I really do apologize for that.

A knock on the door draws Fraser's attention away from the barely intelligible report that he is, with limited success, attempting to review before his first meeting.

"Can I help you?" Fraser looks over the man standing at his office door: a little over 183 centimeters tall, perhaps 82 kilograms, blue eyes, black hair, with a swath of red, irritated skin running partway around his neck.

"Uh, yeah. I think you're in my office," the man says, offering a piece of paper to Fraser. The cuff of his blue Oxford shirt rides up, exposing a series of faded, circular scars around his wrist, the sort that might be produced by repeated, violent straining against handcuffs.

Fraser takes the paper and scans it quickly. "Ah. It would appear that we have been assigned to share this office," Fraser says, handing the paper back. There are two desks, after all, wedged into the small space.

"That can't be right. There's barely enough room to swing a cat in here!" He gestures demonstratively. His accent is difficult to place-- mainly Ontario, Fraser guesses, but with an intriguing hint of the western U.S. in his vowels.

With an indignant snort, Diefenbaker emerges from underneath Fraser's desk, poking his nose into the man's crotch before he can twist away. "Diefenbaker! My apologies-- Dief tends to be willful and rude even at the best of times, and right now he's just been through quarantine." Standing, he offers his hand. "Corporal Benton Fraser, RCMP."

His eyes widen. "Benton Fraser?" he asks, sounding flabbergasted.

"Yes. Is something the matter?" Fraser is sure that he has never encountered this man before, but he is aware that some of his cases-- the ghost ship, the nuclear sub-- have become somewhat notorious.

"Um, no. Cal Mackenzie, F-- uh, civilian consultant." His handshake is brief but firm. Kneeling, he scrubs his hand through Diefenbaker's ruff. "And what's your name, huh?"

"Diefenbaker, or Dief, if you prefer." Dief barks smugly and looks over his shoulder at Fraser. "Don't be silly, Dief," Fraser mutters. Why on earth would his new officemate smell like Ray?

Cal sighs. "I guess this is my desk, then. So what do you do around here?" he asks, sitting on top of the aforementioned desk.

"I'm... not entirely sure. My duties appear to be... slightly different from what I had understood they would be." Fraser flips a file folder open and rifles through the contents. "I appear to be attached to the task force on outlaw motorcycle clubs."

"OMC's, huh? That's what I'm working on. Guess that's why they got the idea in their little pea brains to stuff us in the same office."

"It simply doesn't make any sense," Fraser says, flipping the folder closed. "I have no specialized knowledge relating to OMC's, and quite frankly, my skills would be much better utilized in other areas." He suspects that someone with a grudge against him-- and unfortunately there are a number of such individuals in the RCMP-- had a hand in this sudden and illogical change in his assignment.

"Doesn't have to make sense. It's the Bureau. Or I guess, in your case, the Mounties. So, uh..." Cal scratches absently at the radiation burn on his neck. "Have you ever even ridden on a motorcycle?"

"Well, no, not as such."

"What's not as such mean?"

"Well, I have ridden on a moped, which shares, I believe, the basic engineering principles of a motorcycle. Also, I read a book on the subject in my grandmother's library. There were a couple of pages missing, but I'm sure nothing vital." Fraser does not add that the most modern motorcycle in the book was a 1951 Indian Chief.

Cal squints at him. "Fuck. I sure as shit hope they aren't planning to send you out undercover or anything like that."

Diefenbaker adds a derisive bark. Fraser coughs and shuffles his papers together. "At any rate, I'm due to a staff meeting in five minutes."

"Shit, me too," Cal sighs, looking at his watch. "Fuck. I hate meetings."

* * *

Billy follows the scent of coffee to the kitchen. Entering, he waves a hand absently at Cate and Gina, who are sitting at the kitchen table. There's a very large pot of coffee calling his name, and he's got no time for silly things like actually saying good morning to anyone around him. Fortunately, Cate and Gina are well aware that he's not human until after he's had coffee and a cigarette.

Clutching his steaming mug, Billy collapses into a chair at the table, absently listening to their conversation. He's most of the way through his second mug before he's awake enough to interject a comment on one of the new songs they're discussing.

"Hey, Billy. Welcome back to the land of the living," Cate says, smiling impishly.

"Morning," Billy says, his voice scratchy.

"So... will we be seeing Ben the policeman again tonight?" Gina asks in an acidly sweet voice.

"Gina..." Cate says warningly.

"S'okay, Cate," Billy says. "Yeah, Ben is staying over again tonight. He hasn't signed the lease on his apartment yet, and there's no reason for him to stay at a hotel if he doesn't have to. Is that gonna be a problem?" Billy meets Gina's eyes challengingly.

"That depends," Gina says, her eyebrow raised. "Is he going to start arresting people if he smells pot?"

Billy shifts uncomfortably. He hadn't actually thought about it, but knowing Ben... "Well, uh... yeah, maybe."

"Then yeah, it _is_ going to be a problem." Gina crosses her arms and lounges back in her chair.

"So, what, is this a new band policy now, Gina? You get to decide who it's okay for us to sleep with?" Billy digs a pack of cigarettes out of his breast pocket and lights one, watching her through narrowed eyes.

"Listen, Billy, I am not going to jail because of some cop you picked up--"

"Oh, is that what this is really about, Gina? You--"

"Oh, shut up, the both of you!" Cate slaps the kitchen table, hard. Billy and Gina turn and stare at Cate, who glares at them. "Okay, are we done squabbling like toddlers now? Can we talk about this like rational adults or am I going to have to break out the bullwhip?"

Gina coughs and looks away. Billy hides a smile with the hand that holds his cigarette.

"Right." Cate points at Billy, saying, "Billy-- how long is Ben planning on staying with you?"

"Just tonight. He signs the lease on his new place tomorrow." Jesus, it's not like Ben is _moving in_ with him or anything.

Cate points at Gina. "And Gina-- is it going to kill you not to smoke up until tomorrow?"

"I suppose not," Gina says, ostentatiously examining her nail polish for chips.

"There. That wasn't so hard, was it?" Cate leans over and sneaks a kiss from Gina.

"Ever thought about teaching grade school?" Billy asks. "Cause I think you'd be a natural."

"Oh, shut up. Brat," Cate says, grinning at him.

"Have you lost _all_ your fucking balls, now, Billy?" Joe materializes like a sunbeam in reverse, leaning against the kitchen counter with his arms crossed and a snide smile on his face.

" _Fuck_ ," Billy mutters under his breath.

"What, you're just going to let the little dyke tell you what to do? Stand up for yourself, Billy-boy. At least _pretend_ that you've got a spine." Joe hacks and spits.

Billy stubs out his cigarette violently, controlling the urge to tell Joe to go fuck himself.

"Billy? Something wrong?" Gina asks.

"No, nothing. Listen, I'm gonna go and, uh, take a shower." Billy shoves his chair back decisively. He may not be able to tell Joe to go to hell in front of his band mates, but that doesn't mean he can't do it when he's alone.

"You're not mad at me, are you?" Cate looks worried.

"No, no, I just-- I'll be back in a few." Billy escapes from the kitchen and takes the back stairs up to the second floor. Joe is waiting for him, leaning against the door of Billy's room. "Get out of my way."

"Make me." Joe takes a deep drag off his cigarette and blows the smoke in Billy's face. It's not real-- there's no smell-- but it's still really fucking irritating.

"Fuck you, Joe." Billy reaches through Joe's body and turns the doorknob. There's a distinct feeling of cold where Joe's standing-- a shivery sensation that makes the hairs on his arms stand up-- but he resolutely opens the door and walks right through Joe.

"Fuck!" Billy closes the door behind him and leans against it, rubbing his arms. "God, that fucking _sucks_."

"Billiam." Joe appears next to him, looking coldly angry. "That wasn't smart."

"What're ya gonna do, Joe, haunt me?" Billy smirks, trying to hide how spooked he feels.

Joe's eyes narrow and his body flickers briefly, becoming almost translucent. He grins at Billy-- the terrifying grin that tends to precede some act of random malevolence-- reaches out an insubstantial finger, and pokes Billy in the chest.

"Fuck!" Billy can fucking _feel_ Joe's finger poking him. He didn't know Joe could _do_ that.

Joe trails his hand down to the waistband of Billy's jeans. "Scared, Billy?"

"Fuck you," Billy says mechanically, but he knows it's empty bravado.

"Oh, you know that's not the way it works," Joe growls, and cups Billy's cock through his jeans. Billy gasps-- Joe's fingers are freezing cold, but it feels like Joe, familiar grip of callused, strong hand-- and he's caught between conflicting urges to press closer or flinch away.

"Don't forget, Billy-- you're mine." Joe leans closer-- fleeting press of ice-cold lips-- and disappears.

It's several minutes before Billy can stop shivering.

* * *

"Do you think he's pissed at me?" Cate asks, watching the kitchen door swing shut behind Billy.

"Nah." Gina shrugs and steals a bite of Cate's apple danish. "He's just Billy."

"I hope you're right..." Cate sighs. "So, do you think that it's gonna go anywhere? With Ben?"

"Nope," Gina says, lighting a cigarette.

"Why not? Ben's a nice guy." And okay, so he's a little stiff, not someone she would have expected Billy to go for, but maybe that's a good thing.

"Exactly. He's a nice guy, and that's why it isn't going to work out."

"What? You want him to be with someone like that Joe Dick guy? He sounded like a complete asshole."

"That's sort of what Billy needs, babe. I know you think he's a delicate flower in need of tender loving care, but he's not," Gina says, gesturing with her cigarette. "He likes to be challenged, he likes to be pushed and to push back, to fight-- and Ben can't give him that."

"I guess," Cate says, frowning.

"And that's why Billy's with him right now. Cause he knows damn well Ben's never going to get close enough to him to threaten him. You mark my words," Gina says, tapping the table with a dark-red lacquered fingernail, "First time Billy meets someone that he could actually have a relationship with, he's gonna run away so fucking fast, all we'll hear is the sonic boom."

Cate sighs. "You're so cynical, you know that?"

"Hey, I'm just the realistic one. That's how this band works-- I'm the realist, you're the optimist, Billy's the pessimist."

"And what does that make Trevor?"

"Who cares?" Gina laughs and steals another bite of Cate's danish.

Cate picks the pastry up and waves it at Gina. "Would you like a danish of your own?"

"Nope. I'll just keep stealing yours. Keeps the calories from finding me." Gina winks.

"Oh, sure, so they can all find me? Bitch," Cate says, grinning.

"Whatever. You love me." Gina swipes a fingertip through the danish's filling and licks it off slowly, watching Cate under her dark eyelashes.

Cate's breath catches. "And you're a tease."

"Oh, I'm not a tease... I always follow through," Gina says in a smoky voice.

"That a promise?"

"Mmm-hmm." Gina leans in for a sweet, apple-flavored kiss, slow and thorough.

Cate is faintly pink-flushed by the time she breaks the kiss. "I'll hold you to that later."

Gina smiles at her, dark eyes sultry. "You can hold me any way you like, later."

* * *

His morning is packed full of dull, pointless meetings, so it's almost noon by the time Cal manages to get some time to himself. Fraser doesn't seem to be around, but Cal keeps a weather eye on the door just in case as he picks up the phone. He's pretty sure this is going to be a conversation he doesn't want any possibility of Fraser overhearing.

"Kowalski." Ray sounds curt, but not completely stressed out, which Cal takes as a good sign.

"Hey, it's Cal."

"Hey. What's up?" Ray's voice softens and warms.

"Kind of a weird coincidence, actually. Your old partner Fraser is still up in the Northwest Territories, right?"

"Yeah. Why?" Ray demands.

"Well, like I said, weird coincidence. The guy I'm sharing an office with is RCMP. Name of Benton Fraser." He wishes he didn't have to tell him, but if it _is_ his old partner, Ray deserves to know.

"That can't be Fraser. I don't know what the odds are against there being another Mountie with the same name, but it's not him."

Cal sighs. "Your buddy Fraser-- does he have a white dog?"

"Half-wolf." Ray sounds guarded.

"Named Diefenbaker?"

"That son of a bitch." There's a slamming sound in the background. "That _son of a bitch_!"

"Ray, c'mon, calm down." Cal can hear a muffled male voice asking Ray if he's okay, and Ray telling whoever it is to fuck off.

There's a short silence, then Ray speaks again, his voice sounding quiet and intense, as if he's hunched over the phone. "Are you sure he said Diefenbaker?"

"Yeah. He introduced the dog by name and then apologized for its bad manners."

"Fuck. That's Fraser, alright."

"Listen, I'm sorry, but I figured you deserved to know."

"Yeah. Yeah, thanks."

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, sure. I'll talk to you later." _Click._

"That went well," Cal says to the dial tone. Fuck. Maybe he should have waited to tell Ray till after work. On the other hand, Ray would have been pissed if he'd waited that long. Either way, it sucks.

"Something the matter?" Fraser asks, appearing as if by magic. Cal jumps and swears.

"No, no, nothing." Cal hangs up the phone. Checking his watch, he asks, "You know anywhere to grab a quick lunch around here?"

"Certainly. If you could wait a moment, I need to make a brief phone call."

Cal eavesdrops shamelessly. Fraser's talking quietly, but Cal can still make out that he's discussing arrangements with someone named Billy to pick him up after work. New boyfriend? _Ray is not going to take that well_ , Cal thinks, wincing.

Fraser takes them-- the dog is definitely included-- to a nearby diner. Cal halfway expects the dog to get his own chair and placemat, but instead the waitress gives him a roast beef sandwich under the table. She spends some time cooing over the dog-- and Fraser-- first. It's interesting to watch how Fraser suddenly becomes Mr. Oblivious when there's a chick hitting on him.

"So how'd you get attached to this thing?" Cal asks, once the waitress brings their food and finally leaves them alone. Making air-quotes with his fingers, he clarifies, "The whole 'cross-border law enforcement coordination initiative' bullshit."

"I requested a transfer to this project, and I'd hardly describe it as 'bull' of any kind," Fraser says stiffly.

"I'm not saying that it's bullshit, exactly-- it's a sound idea, basically, it's just that the PR stuff is _complete_ bullshit. I mean, you can practically smell the brass salivating over this one, you know what I mean?" he asks, gesturing at Fraser with a french fry. "Anyway, so where'd you request the transfer from?"

"Yellowknife." Fraser looks faintly disapproving.

"Middle of nowhere, huh. I thought I'd heard that you were assigned to Chicago before, though. What made you come back?" Cal would bet that he came back for Ray, although why he didn't tell Ray he was returning is one hell of a mystery. Afraid that Ray would be mad? It doesn't make any sense.

"I felt the project had great potential to facilitate law enforcement between our two countries. I take it that you were an FBI field agent?"

Cal stares at him. "How the fuck did you know that?"

"The calluses on your hands indicate extensive firearms use. You walk as if compensating for the weight of a holster and weapon strapped to your right ankle, although you are not currently wearing one." Fraser pauses, looking a little smug. "And, of course, the fact that when you were introducing yourself, you began to say FBI before correcting yourself."

Cal shakes his head, smiling reluctantly. "Not bad. You do that Sherlock Holmes thing all the time?"

"Habitually. I've been informed that it's one of my more irritating habits." Out of nowhere, Fraser flushes and glares at the dog, muttering, "I will ask him no such thing."

 _That's right, Ray did say something about Fraser talking to inanimate objects. Didn't mention carrying on conversations with animals, but it seems to fit,_ Cal thinks, hiding a smile with a gulp of coffee.

"The semi-permanent tattoos on your neck-- they were applied as part of an undercover investigation, I'd assume?"

Cal's head jerks up. "How the fuck did you-- uh, how'd you guess?" he asks, trying to sound casual.

"Well, naturally, as an FBI agent, you wouldn't be allowed to have highly visible tattoos, leading me to deduce that they were applied as part of an undercover investigation. Given the type of burns on your neck, I'd guess that the dye used was designed to break down under a specific type of radiation." Fraser looks really smug this time.

"Uh, yeah. That's pretty impressive," Cal says. He'd been joking about the Sherlock Holmes thing before, but now it's starting to get a little creepy. Fortunately, the waitress brings them the check, preventing Fraser from announcing any other brilliant (not to mention disturbing) deductions he may have made about Cal's history.

As they're leaving the diner, it occurs to Cal that Fraser very neatly diverted the conversation from the topic of why he really returned to Chicago. "Sneaky bastard," he mutters.

* * *

Ray honestly didn't mean to be here, lurking a block away from the front entrance to the WWII-era government building where Cal works --and, apparently, Fraser too. He argued with himself all the way over here, telling himself that he isn't going to follow Fraser home, he isn't going to fucking _stalk_ Fraser-- he learned his lesson with Stella, he really did-- he isn't going to do anything except sit in his car and watch Fraser leave. He just wants to _see_ Fraser. That's all.

That resolve lasts until he _does_ see Fraser, large as life and twice as red, leaving the building with Cal. He's wearing the blue pea coat over his uniform. They linger for a few minutes, talking, before a silver Jaguar pulls up to the curb and a blond-haired guy leans over and opens the passenger-side door. Dief hops into the back seat. Fraser says something to Cal, they shake hands, and then the Mountie takes off his Stetson and gets into the car.

"Fuck!" Ray pounds his hands on the steering wheel. Who the hell is that guy, and why the fuck did Fraser come back to Chicago without _telling_ him? What is going on here? The jealous part of Ray's hindbrain, the part that used to tell him Stella was cheating on him when she worked late, starts whispering that Fraser and the blond guy are fucking, and that's why Fraser came back without saying anything. Because Ray freaked Fraser out with his stupid declaration at the airport, and now Fraser doesn't want anything more to do with Ray's loser ass.

There's finally a lull in the traffic, and the Jaguar starts to pull away from the curb. Ray is about to follow when there's a knock on his passenger-side window. Cal is leaning over and glaring at him through the window.

"Shit." Ray unlocks the door and Cal slides in. The silver car is already two blocks away. Ray pulls out into traffic abruptly, cutting off an SUV.

"What're you doing, Ray?"

"Nothing." Ray keeps his eyes on the Jaguar.

Cal sighs. "You know this is a really fucking bad idea."

"I'm not doing anything."

"I'd say that you're tailing your ex-partner. That's not nothing."

"Well, what the hell do you expect me to do? You tell me Fraser's back in town, that he's fucking working with you, and expect me to just go, yeah, fine, sure, okay? I talked to him three days ago! He didn't fucking say anything about coming back to Chicago!" Ray's shouting, his hands clenched on the steering wheel.

"Ray, fuck, just calm down."

"I am calm!" Ray yells.

Cal doesn't say anything. His stomach churning, Ray concentrates on tailing the silver Jaguar. Maybe he's making a mistake. But he has to see-- he has to _know_. He's just going to follow them till they get where they're going, and then he'll leave. He's not going to do anything stupid.

"I shouldn't have told you," Cal mutters. Ray glances over. Cal's arms are crossed and he's got his head down, frowning.

Ray sighs. "I would've heard about it from someone. Better from you than from some jackass at the station."

There's silence for the rest of the drive. Ray follows the Jaguar to the near west side, into a ritzy neighborhood with lots of big old houses-- the sort of houses where doctors and lawyers live. What the hell is Fraser doing with some rich guy? Fraser's idea of luxury is an apartment with a bathroom that you don't have to share with the neighbors.

The silver car pulls into a circular driveway in front of one of the houses, a big one that kind of looks like the Addams Family mansion. Ray parks the GTO about a block away, sliding his glasses on so he can get a good look at the blond guy. He's okay driving without his glasses, but he really needs them for detail at a distance.

The blond guy is thin, about Fraser's height, not especially good-looking, wearing a long black wool coat, jeans, and boots. He leans against the car, talking to Fraser for a few moments. Fraser says something to him and turns toward the GTO. Shit, of course Fraser spotted him. Ray slumps down in his seat and wonders how the hell he's going to handle this-- should he just start the car, get the fuck out of here? The blond guy is still standing next to the Jaguar, watching Fraser, who walks down the sidewalk to the GTO and just stands there, his face blank, waiting for Ray to get out of the car.

Ray looks over at Cal, who raises an eyebrow and shrugs, like _hey, this wasn't **my** idea_. Feeling like a condemned man, Ray gets out of the car and stands there uncertainly, watching Fraser over the roof of the GTO.

"Hey, Frase."

"Ray." Fraser's voice is cool.

Ray fidgets uneasily and tries to figure out what to say, but he's interrupted by the sudden impact of nearly seventy-five pounds of half-wolf against his stomach. "Dief! Hey, no licking the ears!" Dief woofs excitedly and licks his face, which-- yeah, gross, but at least _someone_ is glad to see him. Dief still loves him, even if Fraser seems to think he's pond scum.

"I'm perfectly well aware of that, Diefenbaker," Fraser says snippily. He's glaring at Dief like the half-wolf just said something nasty to him.

Ray grabs Dief's ruff, making sure he can see Ray's mouth, and whispers "Good boy." Dief sits back on his haunches and barks once, looking thrilled.

Well, they say the best defense is a good offense, so Ray sets his jaw, looks Fraser in the eye, and says, "So, when were you going to tell me you were back in town?"

"Why were you following me?" Fraser demands.

"Nuh-uh, I asked first. Why'd you come back and not tell me?"

"Were you _stalking_ me?" Fraser's got his disapproving face on.

"Were you _ever_ going to tell me?" Ray knows he's getting a little loud, but that's how he fights-- it's how the Kowalski family has _always_ fought. He who yells loudest, wins.

"Hey," the blond guy says. Ray transfers his glare from Fraser over to him. "If we're going to have a big screaming argument, could we maybe have it somewhere a little less public?"

"Of course; I should have considered that," Fraser says. "Shall we bring this inside, gentlemen? We don't want to inadvertently provide a show for any reporters."

"Reporters?" Ray demands. He squints at the blond guy. "Who the fuck _are_ you?"

* * *

"Billy Tallent," Billy says. And this Ray guy doesn't look _that_ much like him, Billy thinks. From what Ben said earlier, he expected Ray to look like his long-lost twin brother. They're the same coloring and height, same general build, but that's about as far as it goes.

"Ray, this is Billy Tallent, guitarist for the rock band Jennifur; Billy, this is Ray Kowalski, my ex-partner. And in the car, if I'm not mistaken, is Cal Mackenzie, my current office partner." Ben sounds like he's gone on complete autopilot with the Miss Manners thing. Must be a reflex-- the more uncomfortable a situation gets, the more polite Ben is.

Ray makes a frustrated noise and yanks open the passenger door. "Cal, meet Fraser and Mr. Talented. There, are we all introduced now?"

Billy misses the next few words of the conversation-- all his attention is focused on the guy getting out of the car. He looks-- fuck. He looks like Joe. Older and thinner, yeah, but it's _Joe_. The guy closes the door and leans back against the car, his arms crossed, and the look on his face is so perfectly _Joe_ that it's all Billy can do not to walk right up to him and sucker-punch him in the gut. Or possibly kiss him until he can't breathe. He's feeling a little conflicted right now.

"...Billy? Billy?" Ben's tone of voice sounds like he's repeated his name a few times already.

"Sorry, uh-- sorry. What?" With an effort, Billy stops staring at the not-Joe guy.

"Is there someplace where Ray and I could talk for a while in private?" Ben's eyes look strained, the circles under them darker than usual.

"Sure, come on in," Billy says, leading the way up the front stairs. Entering the foyer, he checks the door to the left and finds the small parlor unoccupied. "Here, you guys can use this one."

"Thank you." Ben gestures to the open doorway. "Shall we?"

Ray walks in without a word. Ben gives Billy a brief apologetic glance and follows him, shutting the door after them.

Billy shoves his hands in his pockets and looks at the not-Joe guy, who's staring at the parlor door. His body is tingling with the urge to just-- shove the guy up against a wall and go to town. He wants to know if his body is the fucking furnace that Joe's always was, if he'll leave finger-shaped bruises on Billy's arms the way Joe always did.

No. No, he's not going to do anything stupid. Because it would be really, really stupid to ask this guy, who _isn't_ Joe, dammit, to hold him down and fuck him till he screams.

No.

* * *

Dief whines and settles down on the floor, staring worriedly at the closed door. Cal knows just how he feels.

The blond guy, Billy, says abruptly, "I'd fucking kill for a cup of coffee right now. You want one?"

"Yeah, sure." Cal follows Billy through a doorway and down a short hall. Billy opens a door and gestures him through. Cal is a few steps into the room when it registers on him that this is a library, not a kitchen. "What the fuck?"

Billy locks the door and leans against it for a moment, staring at Cal with strangely intense eyes. "Why don't you sit down?" he says, gesturing at a maroon leather armchair near Cal.

"Why don't you tell me what the fuck is going on?" Cal asks, eyeing him warily. This guy's been giving him weird looks since he got out of the car.

"Listen, do you want a blowjob or what? Sit down," Billy says impatiently.

"Do I want a _what_?"

And yeah, Cal could have resisted a bit harder when Billy takes him by the shoulders and presses him down into the chair, but to be quite honest he's pretty stunned by the _surrealism_ of it. It's like he just walked into a porn movie-- he practically expects to hear the bad seventies music in the background.

Billy grabs him by the hips and yanks him forward till he's slumped down and his ass is at the very edge of the chair. "What are you--" Cal swallows, hard, as Billy unzips his chinos and slides his fingers into the gap at the front of his boxers. "This is a really bad idea-- ahh," he hisses as Billy takes his cock into his hot, wet mouth and starts to suck.

Cal's grabbing the chair arms as hard as he can, staring down at Billy's head bobbing up and down in his lap. Billy takes him in deeply a few times and then pulls back, glancing up at him through sandy eyelashes. Cal sucks in a deep breath as Billy tips his cock away from his belly with one hand and licks it slowly, tracing his tongue around the head, quite clearly giving him a show. "Holy... _shit_..."

Billy reaches up and captures one of Cal's hands, tugging it toward his head. The message is clear-- he can get grabby if he wants to. Cal slides his hands over Billy's sandpapery stubble, feeling the muscles in his cheeks and jaw working as he settles in to a steady, deep rhythm. It's so good-- so fucking good-- and Cal is actively trying to hold back, trying not to thrust, but he can feel the tension building-- building-- and then Billy sucks in a deep breath through his nose and goes down deeper-- holy _fuck_ that's his throat-- and Cal groans once, loudly, and comes.

Billy stumbles to his feet, rubbing the back of his hand across his mouth.

"Billy... I..." Cal isn't sure what the hell he's going to say, but it doesn't much matter, because Billy is out the door before Cal's even finished zipping his pants up.

* * *

Ray is standing in the middle of the room, his shoulders hunched and his head down. Fraser closes the door gently behind him and watches for a second, then squares his shoulders and crosses to Ray, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Ray, I--"

Ray flinches away violently. "What the _hell_ , Fraser? Are we friends?"

"Yes, we are." The deepest, truest friendship Fraser has ever had. And now he's ruining it, as he ruins all his attempts at human connection.

"And aren't friends supposed to be honest with each other?" Ray turns around and pins Fraser with a glare.

"Ray, I never lied to you," Fraser says, knowing as he says it that he _did_ lie, by not telling Ray when they spoke on Friday night.

"Yes, you _did_! Not telling me you were coming back, that's a-- that's a lie of _omission_ , Fraser, that's what the nuns used to call it!"

"I don't understand why--"

"Why I'm so _angry_? Why I'm pissed at you for coming back and _not telling me_?"

"I didn't know what to say--"

"How about, Ray, my friend, I'm moving back to Chicago? Or, hey Ray, guess what, I'm shacking up with a rock star? Or maybe, Ray, you idiot, I never loved you and I never will!" Ray's yelling, the tendons in his neck standing out like ropes.

"That's not true!"

Ray stares at him. "Which part?"

"I don't-- I mean, I do-- I do love you." It's like a crevasse is opening up between them, and he can't figure out how to get across it, how to get to Ray.

Ray crosses his arms again, hunching his shoulders protectively, gripping his biceps with whitened knuckles. "Then why'd you do that? Why'd you act like it meant nothing, when I said-- it-- at the airport?"

"I don't know... I... Ray, I-- I love you," he says helplessly, hoping that somehow the words will fix things, make everything right again.

"But you don't trust me," Ray whispers, every word as distinct as a bullet.

 _It's me that I don't-- can't-- trust_ , Fraser thinks. "I didn't know what to say," he repeats weakly.

"How can we be partners if you won't _trust_ me?" Ray demands in an anguished voice.

It's as if he's standing on the lakeshore again, feeling the impact of Ray's fist against the side of his jaw. _We've learned nothing,_ Fraser thinks bleakly, closing his eyes.

After a few moments, he hears Ray sigh. "Fraser, I can't-- I can't do this alone."

Silence, and then the sounds of Ray's boots crossing the hardwood floor. Ray pauses. "Bye, Frase," he says softly, and then the door closes and he is gone.


End file.
